


Breaking The Silence

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Reichenbach, Short One Shot, Temporarily Mute Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:51:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: The silence is their life now.And John doesn’t know if this will ever change.





	Breaking The Silence

John thought he would get used to the silence after a while.

But he can’t. 

This silence is too heavy. It presses down on him until it almost hurts him physically. It’s penetrating. It feels like an open question, which will never be answered. 

The silence is their life now.

And John doesn’t know if this will ever change.

Sherlock Holmes stopped talking one day and, like most of the things Sherlock is doing, it’s definite. 

When the silence had begun, John didn’t understand it. 

He started to understand it a bit, after phoning Mycroft, almost desperately, and asking him what the hell had _happened_. 

“He’s not talking, Mycroft. Why isn’t he talking? He just … Fuck, he doesn’t answer me, he doesn’t say my name anymore, he doesn’t _talk_!”

Mycroft’s explanation was very simple, but so shocking, that John nearly dropped the phone.  
  
“Well, he might have suffered a trauma. Because of the torture he endured in Serbia. On the last mission. Our therapists warned me that something like this could happen.”

“Tortured,” John had whispered tonelessly. “ _Tortured_. You … You never said anything about fucking torture! Neither did he … Fuck. Why do you never tell me what’s going on?! _Why_!”

“John …”

“Piss off.”

He threw the phone away. It landed on the ground with a muffled thump. 

Torture.  
Trauma.  
_Torture._

John had sat down on the couch and hid his face in his hands.

The silence has a name since then. And a reason. And it started to remind John of his own still very present wounds. 

That evening, he tried to get Sherlock to talk, like he had done the last days.  
And like in the last days, he didn’t get an answer.  
Just a quick look. So quick that he nearly missed it.  
A quick, sad look.  
In a blink, it was gone. 

*

John sighs and rubs the back of his head.

He stares at his blog.  
He doesn’t know what to write.  
There’s nothing to write.

Outside, the rain falls down steadily. Monotonously.

It‘s evening. Again. 

The days are flowing by in their slow rhythm without any interruption.

Without really thinking about it, John opens some page about PTSD.  
While he’s reading the information, he feels how he starts to sweat, because it’s all so familiar … 

He closes the window and draws in a deep, shaky breath. 

He needs to do something …

But what? _  
What_?!

*

The next day he’s in the kitchen, making tea, when Sherlock comes down in his pyjamas and sits down on the couch.

“Breakfast?” John asks while he’s pouring the tea into two mugs.  
No answer.  
Of course.  
He makes breakfast anyway. 

Sherlock sits there on the couch and looks at his own hands, which are folded in his lap.  
It is almost painful for John to look at this view.  
Not for the first time, he feels that Sherlock is desperate too.  
Desperate to find a way out, while John is desperate to find a way in.  
Yes. That’s what it is. 

“The sun is shining,” John says casually. He takes two eggs out of the fridge. “Maybe we could go outside. I mean, a walk would be nice. Some fresh air.”  
He smiles and turns around, and then he sees it.  
A tear, which drops from Sherlock’s chin on his hand. 

John’s smile disappears.  

He’s by Sherlock in a second.  
On his knees.  
“Sherlock,” he whispers, almost crying himself already. “Please look at me. Please … I’m trying to … you know, I’m really trying to find a way to … Fuck.”

The next moment, Sherlock really looks at him.  
His eyes are open and wet.  
His mouth is slightly open too. Almost like he’s trying to form words to break the silence, and John’s chest aches.  
“Sherlock,” he says again. And then, he hugs Sherlock.  
It’s intuitively. 

He hugs Sherlock, and then he starts talking, and it seems like he can’t stop …  
  
“I’m here for you, you know? Whenever you’re ready, you can … uhm, you can come to me and you can … I know this is hard. I … I know that you’re in pain and it’s all a fucking mess. You think it’s over and you can forget it, right? You think … you think it’s in the past. You think it’s gone. But it’s not. And it feels like … burning from the inside, doesn’t it? It’s like … like losing yourself. Losing control and losing your mind and … God. I’m here, Sherlock. I want you to know, that I’m here and I’ll stay and I want to _help_ you and …”

“John.”

John gasps.  
It’s just a word. A single word. It’s only his name. And it’s like the most beautiful thing he has ever heard in his life. 

“Sherlock,” he says and hugs Sherlock even tighter. “Oh, Sherlock …”

It’s a start.  
  
It’s breaking the silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/)  
> Beta: [bakerstreet-irregular](http://bakerstreet-irregular.tumblr.com/)


End file.
